


Anchor Me Up, Love

by owlmug



Category: Life Is Strange 2 (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmug/pseuds/owlmug
Summary: Sean did it. He reached Mexico. The journey is over... but no one is by his side. How can he begin to heal?[An epilogue to the "Parting Ways" ending of Life Is Strange 2]
Relationships: Daniel Diaz & Sean Diaz, Sean Diaz/Finn
Comments: 49
Kudos: 367





	Anchor Me Up, Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is an epilogue to Life Is Strange 2, taking place immediately after the "Parting Ways" ending.

_And I hear your ship is comin’ in  
_ _Your tears a sea for me to swim  
_ _And I hear a storm is comin’ in  
_ _My dear is it all we’ve ever been?  
_ _Anchor up to me, love.  
_ _Anchor up to me, love.  
_ _Anchor up to me._

  
  


*

  
  


The door is locked.

Not just locked—boarded up. Sealed tight. Iron bars on the windows and wooden slats nailed to the doorframe; a lot like Merrill’s house, actually. Or that abandoned cabin in the woods, where Mushroom died. It was locked, too, when Sean first found it, but Daniel waved his hand and—

 _Stop it_.

Sean actually says the words out loud, scolding himself. It’s over. It’s _done_. Whining isn’t going to change anything.

Sean wedges his fingers between the boards and pulls. The wood creaks, but holds firm. Sean gives it a good kick instead.

Nothing.

He has no power. He never did. It was always Daniel blowing open the doors, smashing the locks. Without him, Sean has nothing. _Nothing.  
_

He slams his fists against the wooden slats. It bruises his hands, and some small part of him is aware of the pain, but Sean smashes the door again and again. He’s come so far. Given up so much. Lost his brother, his eye, his home, his friends. What’s a few more drops of blood?

The door doesn’t budge. Sean doesn’t expect it to. It’s just another wall he can’t climb, another line he can’t cross. He’s trapped. Alone. Isolated. Cut off from everything, separated from everyone, sealed behind walls, behind walls, behind walls—

Sean throws himself at the door and crumples. He sinks down, right there on the porch, arms around his middle; knees where the welcome mat should be. 

What is he doing? Why is he even _here_? It’s pointless without Daniel; just an empty house to die in. Just a place to lay his corpse. 

“ _Oye, mijo. ¿Estás bien?_ ”

Someone calls out to him. Sean knows he should stand, but he can’t. He’s done. Finished. The race is over. The crowd is cheering. Sweat drips from his brow, but Dad wraps him in a crushing hug, and drags him into a photo with Daniel.

A pair of hands try to haul him to his feet. Another memory flashes through Sean’s mind—a different pair of hands, pulling him out of a stolen car. Pushing him around. Asking him to _sing_.

“Don’t touch me!” Sean cries. “ _¡No me toques!_ ”

The hands belong to a woman, maybe a little bit older than Karen. She recoils at once. Too late, Sean notices two children standing behind her. One holds a bag of groceries; the other, a Power Bear toy. Shame floods through Sean as he turns his head, casting them into his blind spot.

“ _Mamá..._ ” 

“ _Está bien_ , _mijos_ ,” she replies. Sean can feel her kneel down beside him, trying to look at his face. He wishes she wouldn’t. He doesn’t want to talk. Or move. Or breathe. Or think.

But he meets her eye eventually. She makes a soft sound of disbelief.

“Esteban?”

  
  


*

  
  


Her name is Gabriela. She grew up in a house not far from Esteban’s—still lives there with her husband and kids. 

They make room for Sean at the table. He sits between a teenager who won’t look up from her phone and a little boy who keeps waving things in Sean’s blind spot. There are two other boys around Daniel’s age in the living room, completely absorbed in some video game. Gabriela calls them to dinner but they ignore her—until she uses a tone that sounds an awful lot like Claire.

Bowls of food circle the table. Gabriela tells her daughter to put down the phone. Her husband complains about work. Power Bear bobs in and out of Sean’s periphery and the two older boys chatter away about their video game. It’s cozy, and nice, and the food smells wonderful, but Sean’s stomach churns because none of it is right without Daniel. He should be here. He should be wedged between those two boys, inventing their own secret language, some bizarre blend of English and Spanish and made up words...

Gabriela shovels food on to Sean’s plate. She’s saying something; Sean catches the words _Esteban_ and _twenty years_ and _look just like him_. 

He wants to pay attention. He wants to be in this room, having this conversation, but his brain won’t focus. He’s somewhere else, far away, floating between what was and what will never be. Daniel will never sit at this table. And Sean will never again sit at Claire’s.

They’ll never share another meal together.  
  
Gabriela’s voice floats through his ears.

_I didn’t even know Esteban had a son!_

Two, actually.

_Where is he now? Still in America?_

Yeah. He is. And he’ll never leave it.

Gabriela reaches across the table. She takes Sean’s hand and asks, once again, if he’s okay. 

Sean forces himself to sit straighter. His mouth twists into something close to a smile, and he tells Gabriela that he’s fine.

She doesn’t believe him. Sean can see it in her eyes. But she doesn’t press him when he asks if he can use her telephone; she only squeezes his hand in reassurance. 

The phone in Gabriela’s room is a lot like Claire’s; an old-fashioned cordless with push buttons. Sean regretted the call he made from that phone, and he’ll probably regret this one, too. His hands shake as he pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket, then dials the number scrawled at the bottom.

He brings the phone to his ear. It rings.

His throat feels tight.

And rings.

His face is hot. His eyes are stinging.

The ringing stops. There’s a beat of silence, and then the phone goes to voicemail.

“Hey, you got Finn! Leave a message and I’ll hit ‘chu back! Peace!”

A beep. Sean’s mouth moves wordlessly. The phone is recording, but he can’t think of anything to say.

He hangs up. A sob wrenches from his throat. He doubles over, shuddering, gasping for breath, hot tears pouring down his cheeks.

 _Fuck_.

He can’t.

It hurts too much.

This pain is part of him now. It’ll never stop. He’s less now than he’s ever been, lower and more wretched than he ever thought he could be. This is worse than waking up in the hospital without his eye; worse than wandering the desert, beaten and humiliated. He didn’t understand then that his dreams were a luxury; that the goal ahead, even one out of reach, was a gift.

Now he’s here. He’s done it. The journey is over, the destination beneath his feet. He has no reason to move forward. To keep going. To take even one more breath.

The phone rings in his hands.

It scares the shit out of him. Sean fumbles; smashes a button; drops the phone entirely. It clatters against the floor.

“Hello?” a voice says.

Sean picks it up, heart hammering. “Hello?”

“Shit, is this who I think it is?!”

Fresh tears well in Sean’s eyes. “Finn?”

Laughter. “Nah, man, this is Sean Diaz! I’m chillin’ in good ol’ _México_ , drinkin’ _cerveza_ and pissin’ in the ocean!”

Sean laughs, too. It’s a strange sound, but genuine; a mix of grief and joy.

“Fuck, you okay?” Finn asks.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay,” Sean says. He settles against the foot of Gabriela’s bed. 

“You make it down Mexico way?”

Sean swallows thickly. “Yup.”

“ _Fuck yeah_! I knew you would! Is Daniel stoked?”

Silence. Sean’s leg, jiggling against the floor. His free hand, forming a fist, then stretching wide.

“Shit…” Finn whispers. “Is he…?”

“The cops got him,” Sean says in a rush. “At the border. We were home clear and at the last _fucking_ second—”

 _Don’t come back for me_.

“He jumped out of the car, Finn. He turned himself in.”

Whatever Finn says after that, Sean doesn’t hear. He’s not in Gabriela’s bedroom; he’s in Karen’s car, barreling towards the border. And Daniel’s jumping out, and Sean’s reaching for him. His fingertips brush Daniel’s shirt, and then he’s gone.

Finn’s voice cuts through. “You hear me?! It’s gonna be okay.”

“Fucking _how_?!” Sean shoots back. Finn doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. Right now there’s a family inside this house, living normal lives, having a normal dinner, and they’re just gonna keep on eating and talking and laughing and playing video games. They’re gonna keep living their lives, and Sean… Sean is stuck behind this wall, forever. The whole world is moving, but he’s standing completely still.

“You’re _free_ , Sean. You’re free! That’s why Daniel bailed. He did it so you could get away.”

No. He did it so he could get away from Sean.

“Listen! You made it! You get to live the dream, man! Fuckin’ A… I wish I could be there with you.”

“How… How long is your parole? You never said.”

Another pause, this time from Finn. Sean’s heart squeezes.

“Two years.”

Shit.

 _Fuck_.

Two years… Sean doesn’t know if he’ll last two _days_.

He pretends, though. For Finn. With a steadying breath, he says, “At least you get to chill in San Diego. Pretty rad.”

“Fuck yeah! I forgot how much I missed it. Hot cars, hot girls… Not a bad place to hang out.”

“And your brother? You guys doing good?”

He doesn’t actually care about Finn’s brother. Not right now. But he wants to hear Finn’s voice.

Finn tells him nice things. Makes him laugh. Finn’s brother is trying to teach him to skateboard, but he sucks at it.

“Lost a goddamn tooth!” 

“What? No way!”

“Yeah… It sucks. Still got a pretty smile, though.”

Sean chuckles. “I bet.”  
  
The conversation lulls. Then, with surprising tenderness, Finn says, “I really miss you, sweetie.”

“Me too, Finn.”

More than he can possibly know.

“We’re gonna see each other again.”

He says it softly, but it lands like a punch. Sean wants to see him so bad, it hurts.

“Shit… Listen, sweetie, I gotta go…”

“Y-Yeah!” Sean says, sitting up like everything’s fine, like he also has somewhere to be. “That’s cool… Don’t lose any more teeth, okay?”

“Hey, no promises!”

They both laugh. Sean keeps the phone pressed to his ear long after Finn hangs up.

  
  


*

  
  


The next day, Sean opens up his father’s house.

There’s not much he can do about the iron bars, but with a hammer and a lot of patience, he pries each nail out of the doorframe. It’s slow, painstaking work. 

At least no one loses an eye.

His fingers ache. Sean isn’t even sure why he’s doing this; he doesn’t really care about going inside. But it gets him off Gabriela’s couch, and away from her sons and their PlayBox.

Finally, the door swings open.

Sean reaches instinctively for a lightswitch. His hand finds one on the wall, but nothing happens. No one’s paid the electricity bill in over twenty years.

It doesn’t matter. Maybe Sean would care if he had Daniel to look after, but it’s just him. If he starves, or freezes, or sets the whole damn house on fire, at least he’ll die alone.

Sean moves through the house like a ghost. His shoes leave footprints in the dusty floor; the only evidence that he still exists. There’s nothing inside except a few cardboard boxes, and some furniture covered in moth-eaten sheets.

He finds what must have once been a bedroom and unearths a lumpy, old mattress. It smells bad, and in the back of Sean’s mind, he can hear Daniel complaining about it. He drops his backpack on the floor and curls up there, exhausted.

He lies in that room for some time. Silent and still.

But he doesn’t sleep.

  
  


*

  
  


Sean doesn’t tell Gabriela what happened to Esteban. She guesses anyway.

They don’t actually talk about it. She just shows up one evening with a bottle of tequila. They sit together on the porch, drinking in silence. Watching the sunset.

It’s been about… ten days? Sean isn’t sure. When you don’t go anywhere or do anything, the hours just sort of blur together. He hasn’t gotten a job, or cleaned the house, or touched the ocean. The supplies that Karen gave him should last another week or two. Food stretches pretty far when there’s only one mouth to feed; even further when that mouth doesn’t want to eat.

The tequila hits him pretty hard. The whole world is soft and fuzzy; maybe he’ll actually sleep tonight.

Gabriela says something.

“ _¿Qué?_ ” Sean asks. He really needs to lie down.

Gabriela repeats herself. Says that… After his parents died, Esteban could never look at Puerto Lobos the same way.

 _The last time I saw him… We sat on this porch, and smoked together_ …

Sean tries to focus. Tries to remember… where he is. He’s on the porch, and… the sun is going down, and… Lyla’s offering him a cigarette.

_He said his heart would always belong here. But his body needed to be somewhere else._

Lyla’s asking him about change. Growing up. Growing apart. And Sean is making promises he can’t keep. No way distance can tear us apart! Best freaking fighters, forever.

He tries. He really tries. He calls Lyla from that first shitty motel, after he forced Daniel to run. He calls her again from Claire’s old, cordless phone, because no matter how far away his body gets, his heart is still on that porch, watching the sunset with Lyla—  
  
With Finn—

With Daniel—

His heart isn’t here. He gave it away, piece by piece, to all the people he’s loved and lost. Now there’s nothing left inside of him except cardboard boxes and dusty furniture. A shot of tequila. The overwhelming urge to sleep.

Before she goes, Gabriela says that her husband needs help with… something. Sean suspects she’s being charitable again, giving him an excuse to get out of bed tomorrow. He nods in agreement. Fine. That’s fine.

Sean drags himself inside. He falls on the mattress and dreams of the ocean, tossing him about, dragging him down.

  
  


*

  
  


Gabriela’s husband doesn’t talk very much. His name is Dante, and he’s about as opposite from Esteban as a person can get. He doesn’t even turn on the radio as he and Sean lay new tiles on the roof; he just murmurs the occasional instruction, points to the occasional tool.

They take a break, right there on the roof. Sean wipes sweat from his brow and sips a bottle of water, looking out across Puerto Lobos. There are lots of tourists on the beach today; it’s still summer vacation, after all. Kids are running through the streets; Gabriela’s daughter giggles with her friends. A stray dog digs through a trashcan, and Sean would give anything— _anything_ —to hear Daniel beg him to keep it.

Gabriela calls from the ground below.

He has a… a visitor? 

Sean looks over the edge of the roof and…

There he is.

Finn.

 _His_ Finn. Smiling like an idiot. Showing off the tooth he lost; an upper canine near the edges of his grin.

It doesn’t feel real. It _can’t_ be real. Finn can’t be here, standing there, holding his backpack like he just hopped off a train, whatever, no big deal.

Finn shields his face from the sun with one hand and squints up at Sean. His smile gets even bigger.

“Hey, sweetie! You comin’ down, or do I need to come up?”

Sean shakes his head the way Esteban used to shake his radio, trying to clear away the static. “Y-Yeah! I’ll be right there!”

He can’t climb down the ladder fast enough. 

Finn’s hug hits him harder than tequila. Harder than fists on a sealed door. Finn is a crushing, all-consuming weight; Finn is arms around his shoulders and fingers twisted in his shirt; Finn is the smell of weed in his nostrils and laughter in his ear.

“You idiot!” Sean laughs. Or maybe sobs. “You _idiot_ , what are you doing here?! You can’t _be_ here!”

He has a brother— a home— a parole officer—

“Aww, fuck all that!”

“How did you even find me?”

“Shit, like I don’t know how to pick up a phone? ‘Haz vis-to Sean Diaz?’”

Sean looks at Gabriela. She shrugs, clearly amused. Sean makes the introductions; Finn wants to know how to say it himself, though.

“ _Me llamo Finn_ ,” Sean says.

“Mi jamo Finn!”

God, he’s so stupid. He’s the world’s biggest, most spectacular fuckup.

Sean can’t stop smiling.

“C’mon!” Finn says, tugging on Sean’s arm. “I wanna see your beach house!”

“Ah—in a bit. I have to help with the roof—”

Finn drops his backpack on the ground. He’s already reaching for the ladder. “Well shit, let’s take a look!”

  
  


*

  
  


The dinner table that night is crowded and happy. The youngest boy stands on his chair and yanks on Finn’s dreads; Finn laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the goddamn world.

Watching Finn with Gabriela’s family is… mesmerizing. They communicate in a way that transcends language, like sunshine spilling from their lips, filling the room with warmth.

Sean hasn’t smiled this much in a long time. He hasn’t eaten this much, either. He's ravenous, actually, reaching for seconds, then thirds. Gabriela squeezes his arm and fills his plate.

It’s well past dark when Finn finally gets to see Esteban’s house. Sean lights a candle and shows him around. Shame creeps into Sean’s cheeks; he’s been here almost two weeks, and this place has only gotten worse. He tries to kick aside the food wrappers and cigarette boxes strewn across the floor.

Finn doesn’t seem to notice, though. He runs a hand across the walls, his mouth agape and eyes wide in wonder.

“This is _yours_ ?” he says. “Like… _really_ yours? Ain’t no one gonna kick us out?”

Sean stares at the tattoo on Finn’s hand. The squatter’s symbol. It means if you stay in one place long enough, it becomes yours.

“Nah. If someone else wanted it, they’d’ve taken it by now.”

“Dayum...” Finn whispers, like he still can’t believe it. Like this shabby place is beyond even his wildest dreams of sunshine and coconuts. “How many rooms we got?”

“Uh… three, I think?” Sean hasn’t really explored the house. The mattress was all he needed; some nights, he didn’t even make it that far. “They’re upstairs.”

“There’s an _upstairs_?!”

Finn takes off down the hall. Sean laughs and follows after him, careful not to spill the candle in his hands.

“Fuckin’ A!” Finn says, darting from room to room. “Is that a balcony?!”

Finn throws open a door that Sean never noticed, and holy shit—he’s right. There’s a balcony overlooking the ocean. A warm summer breeze flows around Sean’s body, extinguishing his candle and sweeping away the dust at his feet. 

The moon is just a sliver. An eye in the throes of sleep. Finn opens his arms to the sky and breathes deep, as happy and content as Sean’s ever seen him.

And Sean feels…

He doesn’t know what he feels.

But there’s a lot of it.

“Finn.”

Sean draws up to the balcony and places his candle on the railing. Finn takes one more deep breath and turns to Sean.

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“What…” Sean looks out at the ocean, fishing for the right words. “What are you doing here?”

A soft laugh in Sean’s blind spot. “Lookin’ at ‘chu.”

“I’m serious!” Sean says. His heart is beating way too fast. “You… You broke parole, Finn!”

“I know.”

“You can’t go back! Ever! They’ll throw your ass in jail for good, this time.”

“I know.”

“ _Do you_?!” Sean cries. He’s not so sure. Even after all they’ve lost, Finn doesn’t seem to grasp the simple fact that his actions have consequences. 

Finn takes a step backwards. His feet shuffle against the wooden floor.

“Are you… pissed at me?”

Sean sighs. “No, man… I’m not pissed. I just…”

What?

“You’re never gonna see your brother again. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Course it does,” Finn murmurs. “But… We said our goodbyes. Made our peace. It was the right call, Sean.”

The right call.

Sure.

So why does it feel so _wrong_?

“Everything you care about is on the other side of that _fucking_ wall,” Sean says. 

“Not ev’rythin’,” Finn murmurs. Heat rises into Sean's face.

“I… You know what I mean!” Sean replies, almost pleading with Finn, begging him to understand. “ _This_ is your life now. This country. This… This empty house.”

Finn rubs his neck, and Sean thinks for a moment that maybe, _maybe_ Finn understands. He didn’t escape. He simply traded one prison for another.

“Don’t you feel… trapped?”

“No.”

Finn’s gaze snaps up. He meets Sean’s eye, suddenly stern. Resolved. Certain.

“ _Fuck_ our old life! _Fuck_ our old country!” Finn says. He grips Sean by the shoulders, holding him tight. “We can go anywhere else! _Everywhere_ else! We did it, Sean. We got off the goddamn island!”

The… The island?

The fuck is he talking about?  
  
Sean’s head is spinning, but he vaguely recalls the book Finn carried everywhere, the one he used to read every morning. Young boys trapped on an island, committing horrible crimes to survive. 

Is that how Finn sees it? What they left behind? Maybe their old life really was an island… and now they’re clinging to a liferaft, adrift on stormy seas. 

Sean looks out at the ocean. All that black, empty water, stretching out to nowhere. 

“Aren’t you… scared?” he whispers.

Finn’s hands slide up Sean’s neck, and settle around his face.

“Not even a little.”

Fuck.

He’s so… reckless.

And wonderful.

And stupid.

And brave.

And Sean is so grateful to have him, so incredibly, undeniably in love with him.

“What are you afraid of?” Finn whispers.

Nothing. Everything. That black water, filling his lungs.

“I dunno,” Sean replies. He presses his brow to Finn’s. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Another low chuckle. “Me too, sweetie.”

Sean lets himself fall into Finn. Lets their lips come together; lets his eye shut and knees go weak. If he's going to drown, then let it be right here. Let Finn bathe him in goodness and fill him with warmth.

Finn kisses him desperately, still clutching Sean's face. Sean winds his arms around Finn's waist and pulls their bodies flush together, chest to chest, hip to hip.

They go to bed that way; arms around each other, legs entwined, mouths moving in perfect tandem. Finn rocks into Sean, rubbing their dicks together through their clothes and sending wave after wave of pleasure up Sean’s spine.

"Missed you…" Finn whispers between kisses. "Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout 'chu… 'Bout that night..."

Sean moans against him. That night… He thinks about it, too. Sitting with Finn under the redwoods, awash in firelight… His first kiss. His first _anything_.

He thought about it every time he touched himself, hiding away in the privacy of Karen’s shower. Forehead pressed the tiles, hand pumping between his legs, trying desperately to remember the exact shape of Finn’s lips, the taste of his breath.

Just the memory of Finn was enough to make Sean cum all over his hands, so it’s little surprise when this— _all of this_ —Finn’s tongue in his mouth and fingers in his hair—leaves Sean breathless and shuddering, warm release pooling inside his pants, sliding between his thighs.

"Shit-"

"S'okay-"

"I’m sorry-"

"Nah, sweetie. This is perfect. You're perfect."

Finn kisses him deeply, reassuringly. Finn eases him out of his pants and cleans him up; then crawls right back on top of him, wrapping Sean up, holding him steady.

They fall asleep like that, on their own dirty mattress, their own little liferaft. 

  
  


*

  
  


Sean wakes up alone.

Before his eye even opens, he reaches across the mattress, searching for Finn’s warmth. He finds nothing, though, and wonders if Finn was ever really here. Maybe Sean only dreamed him. Or maybe Finn slipped away, like Daniel, when he threw himself from the car.

Fuck.

Where is Daniel now? Foster care? Juvy? The officer who interrogated Sean said that Daniel was too young to be prosecuted… but that was before Sean forced him to clear the police barricade, all those cop cars standing between them and the border…

_Fuck!_

He should’ve turned himself in. Like Karen. She took the fall for their crimes in Nevada, and for _aiding and abetting_ two fugitives. How much time will she get? Five years? Ten? The rest of her life?

Sean feels nauseous. Sick. He remembers all the mugshots Flores showed him; Hannah and Cassidy and Penny, all lined up like criminals, guilty of nothing except knowing Sean. He’s ruined so many lives, hurt so many people… Why? For _what_? So he could lie on this dirty mattress? Die in this dusty house?

A _thud_ from downstairs makes Sean sit bolt-upright. 

“Aww, _shit!_ ” Finn says, muffled by the wooden floors. 

Sean wonders if he broke something—then wonders if he cares.

Finn’s in the living room. He must have been moving the cardboard boxes and dropped one of them; there are photographs spilled across the floor. A young man who looks a lot like Sean smiles up at him, holding some sort of trophy.

“Sorry, sweetie!” Finn says. He’s standing in the same room as Sean, but his voice sounds far away. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s fine,” Sean murmurs, tearing his eye from the photographs. He tries to smile at Finn. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, y’know! Just unpackin’. Come look!”

Finn drags Sean from room to room, showing him the table he set up in the kitchen, the chairs he scavenged from a dumpster. His toothbrush in the bathroom. The old furniture, dusted off. The windows, unshuttered—though not unbarred. 

Finn’s almost giddy, beaming with pride. Sean wants to be happy—right now, he wants that more than anything else in the world.

But happiness doesn’t come. He can’t see this place the way Finn does. It’s not a fresh start. It’s not the paradise Finn talked about around their campfire. It’s just an old shack, filled with junk.

“You okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” Sean says. Again. He wonders if it’ll ever be true. “Just… still waking up.”

Finn makes a sound of understanding. He cards his fingers through Sean’s hair; Sean can’t help but lean into the touch.

“We should take a bath.”

“Yeah—if we had running water,” Sean frowns.

“Shit, sweetie! We got the world’s biggest bathtub in our backyard!”

Down on the beach, Finn strips to his boxers and throws himself into the waves. His head pops above the water, laughing, sputtering. Another wave crashes into him, but he doesn’t seem to care; he stands up again, just to let the water knock him down.

Sean watches him from the shore. It’s a beautiful summer day. Blue sky overhead, boats and birds on the horizon. The public side of the beach, near Gabriela’s house, must be swarmed with tourists.

It feels private here, though, even if it isn’t. There are a couple people strolling the beach, building sandcastles; neighbors Sean hasn’t bothered to meet. They laugh at Finn and shake their heads. Finn’s too far away to notice—and probably wouldn’t care if he did. He’s not afraid to look foolish. Doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.

Sean thinks back to the day they first met. He remembers everything. That pathetic little Christmas market; the holiday music playing over someone’s radio. The slush beneath his shoes. The bounce of Finn’s dreads and the symbol on his shirt; arrows pointing in all directions. The wheel of chaos. 

That’s Finn. That’s always been Finn, thriving in uncertainty, laughing as the waves toss him about.

Foam rolls over Sean’s bare feet.

He finally touched the ocean.

“You comin’, sweetheart?”

“Yeah! Be right there!”

Sean strips to his boxers, too. He leaves all his clothes in a pile next to Finn’s, and lays his eyepatch carefully on top.

“Feels good, huh?” Finn says as Sean wades to his side.

“Fucking cold!” Sean shivers. He feels even skinnier than usual. His nipples are hard and the hairs on his skin are standing upright.

“Aww, it ain’t so bad once you get used to it… Here, gimme some’a that.”

Sean pours a bottle of shampoo into Finn’s cupped hands. He lathers up his dreads, humming with satisfaction. Sean watches the soap roll down his neck and over his chest. All those stupid tattoos Sean used to laugh at—and miss so much.

Those soapy hands reach out and thread themselves through Sean’s hair, working the lather into his scalp. A tingling sensation runs through Sean’s arms, all the way up his neck. 

It feels good, letting Finn wash his hair. It’s… easy. And comfortable. His hands are so steady. So reassuring. The water doesn’t feel too cold anymore. The waves push gently against their waists. 

Sean feels but doesn’t see Finn’s thumb swipe across his left browbone. He’s trying to keep soap out of Sean’s missing eye.

There’s a sadness in Finn’s expression that Sean’s only ever seen one time—when they said goodbye in Nevada. When Sean forgave him for…

Well.

_At least I still have one left._

“Sean?”

“It’s not your fault,” Sean says automatically. Finn’s mouth pulls into something that’s not quite a frown.

“No, that ain’t…” Finn tugs, perhaps unconsciously, at the hairs on the nape of Sean’s neck. “I… I need to ask you somethin’.”

He sounds serious; like they should be having this conversation somewhere else, not soaked through and dripping with soapsuds, standing under the open sky.

“D’ju really take the fall for me? For what happened at Merrill’s?”

The heist. Finn’s stupid plan. The glass that pierced Sean’s eye.

“S’why I got parole,” Finn says. “‘They could only pin me with _trespassin’_. Is that ‘cause’a you, Sean?”

Sean spent more than a month in that hospital, getting interrogated by Agent Flores. Telling her over and over that he didn’t _remember_ anything, that he wasn’t gonna talk.

She seemed to know, somehow, when Sean reached his lowest point. Knew how to coax the words out of him; how to lay her hand on his knee, like an ally. Like a friend. And for a moment, Sean felt like he could trust her. Like he should just tell her what she wanted to hear.

But then she gave him a photograph of Finn, bruised and broken in the aftermath of their heist, and all Sean wanted to do was protect him. Keep him safe.

“Yeah. That was… me.”

“ _Why_?” Finn says, his breath leaving in one long exhale. “Why would you… That don’t make sense, Sean.”

His fingers curl tighter at the base of Sean’s skull. Soap flows in rivulets down his chest, mixing with the seafoam. 

“My own dad fuckin’ narced on me. I spent years in juvy ‘cause’a his stupid shit… An’ you’d go to jail for mine?”

All those cop cars at the border.

Flores, on her megaphone, begging Sean to turn himself in.

“I…”

Daniel, jumping out of the car. Sean reaching for him.

“I just wanted you to be… safe,” Sean whispers.

Finn kisses him. It’s a slow kiss, much softer and sweeter than any they’ve had before—not that there are many to compare it to. It feels like fingertips lathering his scalp. Foam rolling on the shore.

“We’re safe now,” Finn says. “We’re safe, baby.”

And Sean nods, even if he doesn’t believe it.

They dry themselves in the sand, using a towel that Finn brought with him from San Diego. It reminds Sean of the towel he and Daniel stole from that abandoned cabin; washing their hair in public restrooms with motel room soap.

Sean feels better than when he first woke up—even good enough to help Finn clean up the house and unearth the rest of the furniture. It seems that Esteban had the foresight to leave behind some basic living supplies; blankets and sheets. Cups and bowls. Pots and pans. 

Now if only they had electricity.

Sean cleans up the photographs that Finn spilled in the living room. Most of them are of Esteban, playing sports or fixing up a car. Laughing with Gabriela. 

He had a whole life here. Two decades worth of memories, stuffed in a box and left behind.

How?

How did he _fucking_ do it?

“Sean! Sean, c’mere!”

Finn’s voice pulls Sean into the garage. There are more boxes in here than all the other rooms combined. 

And most of them are filled with tools.

“Fuckin’ A, are you _seein’_ this?”

“Dad…. always was a gearhead,” Sean shrugs. If Finn’s impressed with this, he should’ve seen Esteban’s setup back home.

No, not… back home.  
  
Back… in Seattle.

Finn’s _bouncing._ Holy shit—Sean knew Finn liked cars, but he didn’t know he liked them this much.

“Dont’chu get it?!” Finn says, eyes wide in disbelief, like Sean’s missing something obvious. “Your dad hooked us up, Sean! We got ev’rythin’ we need!”

“For what?”

Finn frames his hands, like he can see his own words on a billboard. “ _Diaz Auto Repair_. Or however you say it en Espan-ole!”

Something tugs on the corner of Sean’s mouth. Maybe a smile. “You… wanna open a repair shop? In our garage?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah!”

Sean looks at the piles of boxes. The old, disused workbench. The oil stains on the floor. It’s all too easy to imagine his father in the center of this room, bent over an engine. Blasting music.

It’s… a nice dream.

“You really think we can?” Sean asks, even though he knows how Finn’s going to respond. He just wants to hear it out loud.

Finn takes both of Sean’s hands. Squeezes them tight.

“Abso- _fuckin_ -lutely.”

  
  


*

  
  


A week goes by. Then another. Sean’s facial hair is really starting to come in; Finn says he likes it.

Especially between his legs.

That’s Sean’s favorite way to spend the afternoon. He and Finn will share a blunt and blow each other in the living room, with the windows wide open and sunlight pouring in. Afterwards, they lie together on the couch, Sean’s head on Finn’s chest and Finn’s fingers in Sean’s hair.

It seems like they’re always together, now. Like two magnets, always touching, always pulling each other close. Sean wakes with Finn’s lips on his own; walks to the market with their fingers entwined. Spends his days drinking in Finn’s laughter. Goes to sleep with the taste of Finn’s cum.

Things are so… easy. Natural. Like those lazy days in Karen’s trailer, out in the middle of nowhere, when there was nothing to do but watch the world go by. No one to show off for. No reason to lie; no reason to be anyone but himself.

Finn stretches. Sean can can feel him reach for something; a book, probably.

Sean smiles against Finn’s chest. Maybe he’ll take a nap.

“Read to me?” he asks.

“Later,” Finn replies. Sean looks up at him, confused.

Oh. Finn isn’t reading a book—he’s scribbling on a sheet of paper.

“What’re you doing?”

“Composin’ a love ballad,” Finn replies. Sean almost believes him, but slight twitch in the corner of Finn’s mouth gives the game away.

“Ha ha,” Sean says, sitting up. Where did he leave his sketchbook?

Sean settles on the other side of the couch. He hasn’t drawn very much since he came to Mexico, and doesn’t actually feel like drawing now. Instead, he flips through the pages of his old journal, remembering. Cherishing.

So many sketches of Daniel. So many thoughts and feelings haphazardly scribbled down; things that once mattered so much but now seem so far away, like a dream. Another life.

He turns to a sketch he did of Finn, back in the redwood forest. The night Sean stayed up late, and Finn cut his hair.

 _Feel like a different person_ , the entry says. _But I like it_.

He was so… shy, back then. Hiding everything in his sketchbook. So afraid to be seen that he couldn’t admit his own feelings, not even to himself.

Sean flips to a different drawing he did of Finn. The one Cassidy snatched out of his hands; Sean thought he was going to die of embarrassment.

“Hey, Finn. Look.”

“Whazzat?” Finn squints at the sketchbook. “Oh shit, is that me?”

“Yeah. Drew it a while ago…”

Finn nudges Sean with his foot. “Damn, Diaz! You had to _bad_ for me, huh?”

Flush creeps into Sean’s face. “Shut up! Like you weren’t crushing hard.”

“Didn’t even try to hide it,” Finn says, flashing a grin. His missing tooth has only gotten cuter.

“No… I guess you didn’t.”

Something twinges in Sean’s heart. Something similar to regret.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“I was just… thinking,” Sean says. “Things are so different now. _I’m_ so different. I just… don’t even give a shit anymore, who sees me. Us. I don’t care if people know I’m… into guys.”

Finn hums lowly. He reaches across the couch to offer Sean a fistbump. “Right on.”

Sean stares at Finn’s knuckles. The word F R E E stares back at him.

“I want a tattoo,” he says suddenly. “I want… something. I don’t know.”

“My name, surrounded by a big ol’ heart!” Finn teases. Sean makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“I just want… to remember this feeling, right here. How I feel when I… don’t give a shit.”

How it feels to be honest, not just with himself, but with the whole damn world.

Sean turns to a fresh page in his sketchbook, and starts playing with tattoo designs. Finn’s heart idea isn’t completely terrible. Sean could wear it on his wrist. On his sleeve.

They eat dinner that night around a firepit in the backyard, dug deep into the sand. There’s still no electricity in the house, but they got the garage sorted out. Finn even made a little money, after begging the neighbors to let him fix their tires and change their oil.

The sun is nearly gone, and with it, the light. Sean scoots closer to Finn and drapes a blanket around their shoulders. Finn’s still scribbling at his sheet of paper; he keeps crossing things out. Sean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Finn take anything so seriously.

“Do you… want help?” Sean asks.

“Nah,” Finn shrugs. “I just… gotta lot to say, an’ I dunno how to say it.”

Sean bites his lip. He’s trying really, _really_ hard not to read the letter spread across Finn’s lap.

“Who, um…”

“I’m sendin’ it to my brother, to give to my P.O.”

His… parole officer?

“Kareem was cool,” Finn says. “He always thought I could… I dunno. But he believed in me, an’ I… let ‘im down.”

Yeah. Sean… knows the feeling.

He’s let down a lot of people. People who helped him. Believed in him. Lyla, defending his stupid ass on social media. Claire, lying to the cops so he and Daniel could get away.

 _Take care of your brother, Sean_ , Claire said. Those were the last words she ever spoke to him.

He hasn’t called her. He should. He _wants to_. But a part of Sean is too afraid to hear what Claire will say. What if she shuts him out the way she shut out Karen? Seals him away like Karen’s old bedroom; letters and photos behind a locked door.

 _She’s not my daughter any more_!

“Gotta try though,” Finn murmurs, crossing out a word and starting over again. His shoulders rock against Sean’s. “I gotta be… honest. Like that tattoo you wanna get.”

Right.

Honesty.

Writing in your sketchbook, then sharing it with the world.

It’s gonna hurt like hell. And he just might die of embarrassment. 

But he’s gotta try.

  
  


*

  
  


On the public side of the beach, there’s an old payphone. It’s covered in graffiti, stickers and gum—but it should still work.  
  
Hopefully.

He brings the receiver to his ear. Twists the metal chord between his fingers. Kids are running up and down the beach, screeching. A little boy caught a crab in his bucket; he begs his dad to let him keep it.

The phone rings. Sean’s mouth moves wordless, rehearsing what he’s going to say.

_Hi Claire. It’s Sean._

That’s it. That’s all he’s got.

The ringing stops.

“Reynold’s residence!” a voice says. But not Claire’s.

“D… Daniel?” Sean whispers.

A pause on the other end. Then: “ _Sean?!_ ”

It’s Daniel. Daniel’s here. Talking to him. Daniel’s on the other end of this phone, like stars on the other side of the telescope, almost close enough to reach, close enough to touch.

“Sean, is that you?!”

“Y-Yeah, dude! It’s me!”

Fuck, is this even real?

“Are you okay?” Sean says, the words pouring out before he can even think them. “Did the cops hurt you? What happened?”

Sean can hear Claire’s muffled voice. Then: “It’s Sean, Grandma!”

A cry of disbelief. Suddenly, it’s Claire’s voice in Sean’s ear. “Sean? Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me!”

Fuck! Give the phone back to Daniel!

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m- I’m in Puerto Lobos.”

Who gives a shit?! Let me talk to my brother!

“Oh, Sean!” Claire says. “That’s wonderful. We were so worried.”

Some part of Sean is touched. Overwhelmed, actually, with gratitude. But mostly he’s afraid. Claire’s going to cut him off right now. End the call. Unplug her phone. 

“I’m okay, Claire,” he says. His fingers twist even tighter around the phone chord. “Really. Can I… talk to Daniel?”

Please?

Claire hesitates. Sean’s heart is pounding inside his chest; he feels like his ribs are going to crack.

“Sean, can I ask you something?”

Fuck. 

_Shit_.

She’s gonna seal him up in a room. Hide his letters where Daniel can’t find them.

“Your mother… is in jail,” Claire says carefully. “We don’t know for how long.”

“What’s your question?” Sean asks. Fuck—he didn’t mean to say it so spitefully.

“Did she really give herself up, so you could get away?”

Karen, handing Sean the keys to her car. _I let you down before. Not this time._

“Yeah,” Sean says, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “She did.”

Claire makes a strange sound. An exhale. A shuddering breath.

“Good. I’m glad she finally did something for you boys.”

There’s a long pause. Sean doesn’t say anything. Neither does his grandmother.

Please, Claire.

Please…

“Stay safe, Sean, okay?” Claire says, like that conversation’s over. Like she’s gonna hang up. Then: “Here’s your brother.”

Daniel’s on the phone in an instant, chatting away like he’s at summer camp, and the last few weeks have been the best of his life. He got to go fishing with Chris. And sleep over at his house. They ordered a pizza and ate a whole tub of cookie dough.

“Oh! School’s gonna start soon! I can’t wait!”

Sean laughs, even though his cheeks are wet with tears. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Yeah! I’m _super_ smart! The police made me take a test—”

Sean’s heart jumps into his throat.

“—and guess what? They’re not gonna hold me back ‘cause of all the school I missed! I get to be in the same class with Chris!”

“That- That’s great, _enano_ ,” Sean says. “But hey, listen… Did the cops mess with you?”

“Nah. Not too much. I have to wear this stupid… ankle-thing until I’m eighteen though.”

“What, like… a tracker?”

“Yeah. They want me to stay in America. It’s no big deal.” 

Eight years. Eight years until he can see Daniel again.

Fuck… That’s how long Karen was gone.

Will Daniel still even _want_ to see him in eight years?

Sean can perfectly imagine the smile on Daniel’s face when he adds: “I’m really happy here, Sean.”

Good.

That’s good.

He’s happy. He’s safe.

In the end, that’s all Sean really wanted.

“So… how’s Mexico? Is it awesome?”

“Yeah!” Sean says, surprised by his own sincerity. “Finn’s with me.”

“What! No way!”

“Yeah, we’re living in Dad’s old house. It’s… It’s everything Finn used to talk about!”

Sunshine. Feet in the sand. Fancy drinks served in coconuts.

“Can I talk to him?” Daniel asks.

“Sorry, man. He’s not here right now.”

“Oh,” Daniel says, disappointed. There’s another pause before he says, “Sean? Do they have PlayBoxes in Mexico?”

Sean almost laughs. “Of course, dude. Why wouldn’t they?”

“I- I dunno! Do you think you could get one? So we can play together?”

Sean’s heart is beating fast again, but this time, he feels lighter. _Excited_. Like he just might float away. “Dude! That’s a great idea!”

“Yeah?!”

He’ll find a job. Get electricity in the house. Shit, maybe he’ll just borrow Gabriela’s PlayBox, until he can finally buy his own-

“That’ll be _super_ cool!” Daniel says. “Like… Like we aren’t even apart!”

Like stars through the telescope. Like a pair of lanterns, released into the sky.

  
  


*

  
  


Halfway through August, Sean turns seventeen. 

He calls Lyla. And Daniel—who drags Chris onto the phone with him to belt out the _Happy Birthday_ song. Chris can’t wait to go to Mexico when they’re grown up. He wants to see Sean’s house. And meet Finn. And watch wrestling, because Daniel’s getting him into _lucha libre_ and it’s _so cool, Sean_! The wrestlers wear masks and capes, like superheroes!

Lyla keeps him on the phone for over an hour. She’s gonna come to Mexico, too. Next summer, after she graduates. 

Sean’s crying again. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to call someone without tears on his face.

“You’re really fucking awesome, you know that?” he says.

“ _Me_?” Lyla says. “You’re the one who crossed the whole damn country, with… with cops and racist dickheads on your ass! I didn’t do shit.”

“Fuck that!” Sean says. “You fucking… stuck by me, Lyla. Believed in me. I dunno. “

“Of course I did! None of this was your fault.”

Wasn’t it, though? He’s the one who made Daniel run…

Lyla sniffles on the other end. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Sean.”

Safe. Right.

Everyone keeps saying that.

So why does it feel like he’s still running? Like the cops are gonna kick down his door?

They don’t, though, and as the weeks go by, calling Lyla and Daniel becomes as natural as holding Finn’s hand at the market. Terrifying, at first—until one day, it became normal.

Lyla does a lot of research about extradition. Arrest warrants. All that shit. Turns out, even if Flores wanted to track him across the border, she’d have to convince the Mexican authorities to arrest him; a pretty tough sell, since he was never convicted of a crime. The odds of him getting found, arrested, _and_ extradited are very, very slim.

He’s safe.

He’s really, truly safe.

Summer ends. The tourists leave. As Fall drags on and Winter draws near, the nights start to get real cold—but that’s okay. The house has electricity now. Heat. Hot, running water.

“Fuckin’ A!” Finn cried, the very first time he turned on the shower, and there was something about his expression that made Sean wanna be reckless and stupid. He pulled Finn into the shower, fully clothed, and crashed their lips together. They exchanged sloppy, rough kisses as their clothes soaked through; Finn pressed Sean up against the wall and fisted their dicks together, stroking hard and fast until they both came in his hand.

Sean’s life is brighter now. Clearer. Like the sun is starting to rise. A storm beginning to pass. He has a PlayBox. A phone. A fucking Facebook page.

“Finn? You home?” Sean calls, pushing through the front door. A plastic grocery bag dangles at his side.

“Garage!”

Sean follows the sound of his voice. Finn’s bent over an engine, hands stained with grease. Radio blaring.

Finn props himself on the edge of the car, and furrows his brow in concentration. He’s trying to decipher the song on the radio. “Tu barco… They singin’ ‘bout a dog?”

“A ship,” Sean grins.

“Damnit.”

His Spanish is still pretty terrible, at least when it comes to speaking. He can write it well enough—and read it even better.

“Hey, can you take a break?” Sean asks. 

“Sure, sweetie. What for?”

“I need help drinking these.”

Sean pulls a six-pack of beer from his plastic bag. Coconut flavored.

Finn grins a mile wide. “Hot dayum! What’s the occasion?” 

“Nothing special,” Sean says, lifting his shoulders and letting them drop. “I just… feel good.”

Maybe even… happy.

They drink on the porch, watching the ocean. The sky is more grey than blue these days; it’s hard to tell the difference between the rolling waves, and the clouds churning overhead.

“Think it’ll rain?” Finn asks.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“I hope so. I wanna see it.”

Sean hums as he knocks back his beer. That would be cool. He used to love the rain in Seattle. Lying on his bed, listening to raindrops against his window, the wind howling through the street… There was something nice about it. Comforting. Like… no matter how hard the storm raged outside, nothing could hurt him, because he was home.

He was safe.

Sean’s hand slides across the porch. He can’t actually see Finn in his blind spot, but he can feel Finn’s body heat. Hear his steady breath.

Their fingertips brush together. Finn covers Sean’s hand with a wide, warm palm.

They’re kissing soon after that, and Sean’s melting, and Finn’s easing him down, flat on his back, enclosing Sean’s head between his forearms. Sean moans and opens his mouth wider, letting Finn lick into him.

Finn’s lips are everywhere. Kissing face, his neck, his jaw rough with stubble. His hands wander, too, carding through Sean’s hair, sliding under Sean’s shirt.

Sean wants to give himself to those hands. He wants Finn to sweat over him the way he sweats in the garage, fixing him up, healing his heart. He wants Finn to fill and stroke and tease him with those skilled, expert hands. He wants to coat Finn’s fingers in cum like engine oil.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Sean whispers, his lips somewhere behind Finn’s ear. He wants their mattress. Their liferaft.

A trail of clothes follows them up the stairs; shirts and pants and belts haphazardly discarded. There’s a playful energy to how they stumble down the hall, Sean walking backwards, Finn following after, touching, giggling, kissing.

At last, they find the bedroom. The air is cool and damp, blowing through an open window; drops of water hit the wooden floor.

It’s raining.

Sean falls back on the their mattress and slides off his boxers. Finn stands over him and does the same. There’s a pause—they haven’t actually… seen each other naked. Not like this.

Finn drapes himself over Sean. Their hard dicks brush together, and though Sean should be used to it, his breath hitches.

“Sean? Have you ever…”

Sean shakes his head against the mattress. No. He hasn’t. That would’ve made him nervous, once. Not so much anymore. 

“I want this to be special,” Finn murmurs. He sounds oddly… nervous.

“Everything with you is special,” Sean says, both hating and loving his own corniness. 

“Nah, listen…” Finn says. His brow furrows. Sean rubs a thumb across it, trying to smooth out the lines. “I done a lotta things but… I ain’t ever… had anyone inside me.”

He’s never…?

 _Oh_.

“Never trusted anyone… that way,” Finn continues. Oh shit—is he avoiding Sean’s eye. “But I wanna… try it. With you.”

Sean’s dick stirs between them. Actually nudges Finn with a distinct, hard twitch. A flush creeps into Sean’s cheeks, almost ashamed of how much Finn’s… virginity turns him on.

“It’s that… okay?”

“Yeah,” Sean exhales. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

They take their time with it. Finn presses Sean into the mattress and straddles his waist; then reaches between his own legs and coats his hole with lube.

Sean watches Finn’s fingers disappear inside of him. He licks his lips with anticipation.

“Can I… help?” 

“Yeah… Yeah, get in there.”

Sean replaces Finn’s fingers with his own. Finn tilts back his head and gasps towards the ceiling; Sean pushes in as deep as he can go, all the way to his knuckle. Finn shudders, then falls forward, pressing his brow into Sean’s shoulder. 

“Should I pull out?”

“Nah… Just… gimme a minute…”

Sean kisses every inch of Finn that his mouth can reach. His shoulder. His collarbone. His earlobe.

Finn lets out a sigh. Sean can actually feel Finn’s inner walls clenching around his fingers. Imagines that tight, slick heat doing the same around his cock…

“Okay…” Finn exhales. “Okay… Just… take it slow…”

Sean works his fingers in and out of Finn’s ass, stretching him, slicking him with lube. Finn shudders again, but this time, it sounds like a sigh of pleasure. 

“Yeah… just like that…”

Finn hips are rocking, slightly. Sean hopes he’s doing it right.

“Can you get deeper?”

Sean curves his fingers and—

“Holy _shit,_ Sean!”

Finn thrusts backwards, fucking himself on Sean’s hand. Sean bites his lip; his dick is so hard between them, leaking all over his belly. He’s pretty sure Finn’s is doing the same.

“Fuck, lemme on that dick…”

Finn sits up. Sean pulls his fingers out, then almost sobs when Finn slicks his dick with lube. All Sean wants to do is thrust into that hand—

“Easy, sweetheart… I gotchu…”

Finn guides the head of Sean’s dick to his stretched, slick hole. Then, pressing his hands flat to Sean’s chest, he sinks down on top of it, taking the head inside of him.

Fuck!

 _Fuck_!

Sean’s chest heaves beneath Finn’s hands. His heart is beating so fast, he’s certain Finn can feel it.

Eyes shut and mouth hanging open in pleasure, Finn sinks down lower. Then lower. Inch by careful inch, he takes Sean’s cock inside of him, until his ass presses flush against Sean’s hips.

“Holy shit, sweetie… You feel so good… so good inside me…”

Sean’s hand settle on Finn’s hips. He’s so beautiful. Pale and long and perfect; blue tattoos standing out against his skin. Dreads framing his face.

Thunder rumbles outside the window. Rain pelts the floor. A storm is rolling overhead but it doesn’t matter. They’re safe.

They’re safe.

Finn lifts himself up, then lowers himself again. Repeats the motion. Rolls his hips. Does it again, faster this time, until he settles into a rhythm, impaling himself on Sean’s dick. 

Sean can’t help the moans that escape him. Luckily, Finn’s doing the same. The room is filled with the sounds of their lovemaking; creaking floorboards; heavy sighs. 

It’s perfect.

It’s lying on his bed in Seattle. It’s a kiss in the firelight, hidden away between redwoods. It’s every warm and beautiful thing that Sean’s ever known; the single best moment of his life.

Finn’s moving faster now. He’s so tight and warm and slick—Sean knows he’s not gonna last. He can feel the orgasm building in gut, bubbling hot and sweet like the tears behind his eyes.

“Finn— I’m gonna cum—”

“Good,” Finn says. “Cum in me. Fill me up… Sean…”

Sean cries out. His dick spasms inside of Finn, and Finn follows soon after, spilling all over Sean’s chest.

They collapse into each other, kissing fervently, shuddering and trembling as the cool, wet air slides over their sweaty skin. Finn wraps Sean up and presses kiss after kiss to the top of Sean’s head, whispering, “I love you… I love you so much.”

Sean’s crying—but his tears are joyful. He’s here. Finn’s here. They’re together and happy and full and safe.

And safe.

And safe.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s December now. The holidays are here. It’s pretty cool to see how Mexico celebrates; lots of lights everywhere, good food and music. Gabriela shows Sean how to make _atole_ , just like his father used to.

Sean gets a lot of cards—way more than he expected. Lyla sends one, of course, and so does Jacob. He says he’s glad that Sean and Finn found each other again. Hopes the world starts treating them with kindness.

There’s a really big card from Claire and Stephen and Daniel, with two others stuffed inside the envelope; a card from Chris, and one from Karen. She’s still in jail—but only for a few more weeks. In the end, they couldn’t convict her of anything except harboring fugitives, and no jury was gonna prosecute a nice, white lady for helping her sons.

Finn gets cards too, from his brother in San Diego, and his old crew, Hannah and Cass and Penny. They’ve written back and forth a few times, but Sean gets the feeling they’re still pissed at Finn for what happened in Humboldt. The heist that got them all arrested, and cost Sean his eye.

Christmas Day comes. Finn wakes Sean with kisses and they open presents in bed; a pair of socks for Sean, Chock-O-Crisps for Finn. Small luxuries, the kind they used to dream about back in California, when Mexico seemed so far away, and their beach house was just a fantasy, a finish line they’d never reach.

They spend the day playing video games, drinking beer and making love. They Skype with Daniel on Sean’s laptop and tease him about his Christmas sweater; Sean’s cheeks are still flushed from what he and Finn did on the living room floor, playing with each other like toys beneath the tree.

Then, one day very close to New Year’s, Finn goes out for groceries and comes back with his coat bundled under his arms.

Right away, Sean knew what it was. He recognized the look in Finn’s eye; he’d seen it in Daniel’s many times before.

“Oh, Finn… Is that…?”

“Yeah.” Finn’s mouth curves into a hopeful smile, as he pulls back his coat and reveals the bundle of fur. “Un barco.”

The dog looks as pathetic as Sean felt, the first time he crawled into this house, dirty and underfed. He whines at Sean, then nuzzles deeper into Finn’s arms.

“I couldn’t just leave ‘im out there.”

No. No, of course he couldn’t.

The dog shivers in their tub, tail tucked between his legs as Finn scrubs him down. He keeps whining like he’s scared, like this is all gonna go wrong somehow. Finn wraps him up in a towel and the three of them sit together on the couch.

The dog cautiously licks Sean’s hand. Sean scratches him behind the ear.

 _You’re gonna be okay_.

They name him Coconut, and he's pretty much the best dog in the entire world. His favorite things are sleeping late (relatable) and Finn (super fucking relatable). He plays fetch on the beach and barks inexplicably at the ocean, and when Sean pulls out his sketchbook, Coconut pads over and lays his head in Sean's lap, just happy to sit with him, to share the same moment in time.

He brings something into Sean's life that wasn't there before. Something wholly different from Finn, or Daniel, or Lyla. He's not a link to Sean's past, but a step forward. Something new inside this old house. 

"Aww! Coconut is super cute!" Daniel says. "But not as cute as Chococrisp!”

Daniel holds up his new puppy, the one Claire got him for Christmas. The dogs try to lick each other through the laptop screen.

  
  


*

  
  


A storm rages over Puerto Lobos. A _real_ storm. Not a pattering of rain and rolling grey clouds; no, this is something primal and fearsome, like wolves howling at the moon.

Coconut hides in the closet, but Finn leans in the doorway and stares at the ocean. The angry waves, stretching up. The dark sky, crashing down.

“Dayum…” he whispers. “That’s so fuckin’ cool.”

Yeah, it is. Kinda. If Sean had paint, he’d probably try to capture it; ink alone couldn’t possibly express all that destructive beauty.

“I’m goin’ out there.”

“What?” The word comes out of Sean like a reflex. “Why?!”

“I dunno.”

Finn doesn’t even look at Sean when he says it. He just keeps staring at the ocean, mesmerized by his own terrible idea. Sean snatches his wrist.

“Finn—no.”

“Aww, I’ll be careful!” Finn says, and he sounds just like he did back in Humboldt, trying to convince Sean that an armed heist was no big deal, easy money, a sure thing. “It’s not like I’m goin’ swimmin’. I just wanna know how it feels to be… part’a all that.”

Finn gestures to the storm. 

“Don’t ‘chu wanna know, Sean? What it feels like?”

Sean remembers the dreams he used to have. Black water, filling his lungs.

“No. I don’t.”

“Seeeeean…”

Finn whines the word, and Sean knows he’s gonna do it, because once Finn gets an idea in his head, there’s no stopping him. Finn’s gonna do what he wants, no matter how stupid and reckless it is, no matter who he lets down.

Finn kisses Sean’s forehead. Then he slips out the door like Daniel from a speeding car, out of Sean’s hands, and beyond his reach.

Sean stands in the doorway, feeling helpless and anxious as Finn jogs down the beach. He stands at the shore and opens his arms to the sky; Sean can hear him laughing with triumph and glee.

Fine. You did it.

Now turn around.

Come home.

Finn spins in place. Pounds his chest. He’s fucking _dancing_ in the rain; it would almost be cute if Sean was so terrified.

Finn runs to the water. The waves knock him down.

And this time, he doesn’t pop back up.

“ _Finn_!”

Sean runs. Rain pelts his face; his bare feet pound against wet sand. He throws himself into the ocean, and he can’t even feel how cold it is, because it’s not real. It’s a dream. He’s gonna wake up in bed, and Finn’s gonna be there— Finn’s head is gonna break above the water and he’ll laugh so fucking hard—

Sean’s clothes are heavy, soaked through like the first time Finn turned on their shower. He’s there now, right now, kissing Finn, not churning in the ocean, fighting against the sea—

_There!_

Sean catches a glimpse of Finn before the water swallows him up. Sean dives beneath the waves; Finn’s not moving, and Sean gets closer, Finn sinks lower, slipping down into the dark.

Sean’s fingers twist through Finn’s shirt. 

_No you fucking don’t_!

Coconut is running up and down the shoreline, barking frantically. Sean carries Finn up the beach—has he always been this thin? this light?—and lays him down in the sand. Coconut licks Finn’s entire face but Finn doesn’t move or blink or breathe, and Sean can’t remember what Hannah told him at the lake, where to press on the sternum—

Finn coughs. Seawater bubbles out of his mouth like a wellspring, and he sputters and spits and heaves for air, and Coconut won’t stop licking his face.

Sean collapses onto Finn’s chest. He can’t— He doesn’t—

Fuck.

Finn shudders beneath him. Is he crying?

No. He’s not crying.

He’s fucking _laughing_.

Of course he is. It's all so fucking hilarious, isn't it? Because it's all a joke. It doesn't matter. Fuck it. Steal a car. Rob a drug lord. Break parole. Drown in the sea.

And Sean can’t even be mad, because he’s done the exact same things, made the exact same mistakes. He’s a fuckup, just like Finn. That’s why Daniel jumped out of the car. That’s why his father died on the front lawn.

Sean and Finn take a shower together. Shy, apologetic hands roam over Sean’s body, searching for forgiveness. Sean brings their lips together because he doesn’t wanna talk about it, doesn’t want to hear excuses.

They crawl into bed without any clothes on. Finn wraps Sean up and whispers _I’m sorry_ over and over, and they’re warm, and they’re safe, except not really. This house, this mattress, doesn’t make them safe. Nothing ever will.

  
  


*

  
  


Sean goes for a drive.

A long drive.

Like… two months long.

He was cool about it. He didn’t just up and disappear one day, like Karen did. He actually talked to Finn about it first.

Kinda.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, and Finn was in the living room, teasing Coconut with an old shirt that he braided into a chew-toy.

“I’m thinking about, um… taking off for a bit,” Sean said.

“Great! Where we goin’?” Finn called back.

“No, I mean…” Sean’s leg jiggled under the table. He stared at his hands, even though the entire living room was in his blind spot. “I was thinking… I’d go… by myself.”

Finn must’ve surrendered the chew-toy, because Coconut’s nails stopped scratching against the floor.

“I just wanna get away for a bit. Clear my head.”

“Uh… yeah!” Finn said, sounding like Sean used to when he lied to Daniel, promising him pizza and milkshakes. “That’s cool. Where do you think you’ll go?”

“Inland, I guess? I haven’t really thought about it. I just wanna… I dunno.”

Get away from the ocean. Sleep somewhere dry.

He kissed Finn before he left. Held his face tenderly between both hands, and told himself that it wouldn’t be the last time, that he’d find the strength to come back.

He sees things. Deserts. Mountains. More fucking beaches. He drives during the day and goes to sleep at night in the back of Karen’s car, wondering if Coconut is still sitting by the door, waiting for him to come home.

He calls Finn, sometimes, because Sean wants to believe that he’s better than Karen. Finn answers with a _Hey sweetie_ , and they’ll make awkward smalltalk; Sean will tell Finn about the places he saw, the people he met, and Finn will joke about some stupid thing Coconut did, and the conversation will lull and they’ll just sit together in silence, phone in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

“Are you and Finn breaking up?” Daniel asks.

“What? No! Why… Why do you think that?” Sean asks. He’s sitting cross-legged on the hood of Karen’s car, laptop perched on his knees. Daniel frowns at him.

“I mean… You’ve been away a really long time.”

“Dude, I told you. I’m… on vacation. Mexico’s a big place, and I wanted to see more of it.”

“Well... Finn really misses you. I can tell. He’s no fun to play Minecraft with anymore.”

Sean rubs at his neck. “I miss him too, _enano_.”

“So why don’t you go back?”

Good question.

Sean loves Finn more than anything. He wouldn’t hurt so much right now if he didn’t. He feels like a magnet; no matter how far away he gets, there’s an unseen force trying to pull him back. His bones ache for their faded mattress. For Finn’s warmth and lips and hands.

But it’s not… enough. It’s not what he needs.

Sean doesn’t know what he needs. Or what he’s even looking for.

He says goodnight to Daniel. Curls up in the back of Karen’s car. He’s exhausted; his eye hurts from staring at the road. He wants to sleep so badly, but sleep won’t come.

Sean pulls the phone of his pocket. The tiny screen lights up in his palm. He scrolls to the very bottom of his contacts, and clicks on a number simply labeled: _Unknown_. 

“Hey, Karen.”

There’s a pause. “Sean?”

“Yeah.”

Neither one of them knows what to say. Karen wrote him when she got out of jail, but he didn’t write back—he figured she was just being polite, trying to repay him for that pathetic, sorry little note he left on her counter because he kind of, sort of felt bad for getting her in trouble. He figured that if she wanted, _really_ wanted to have a relationship with him, she’d pick up her own damn phone, but… 

Fuck it.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Sean says. 

“Go ahead. Shoot.”

Karen doesn’t sound surprised. Not even a little. Like she was waiting for this call. It kind of pisses Sean off.

“Never mind,” he grumbles. 

“Oh. Yeah, okay. No problem.”

For some reason, that pisses Sean off even more. “Geeze, _Mom_ , thanks for all the care and concern! I feel so supported right now.”

“Sean…”

“I mean, would it kill you to give a shit for two fucking seconds?”

“ _Sean_. How can you say that?” A dry laugh. “I just spent six months in prison for you.”

“Bullshit,” Sean says. His hands are shaking. “You did that for Daniel.”

“I did it for both of you.”

Yeah, right. Like she’d drag herself to Nevada for Sean. Everything Karen did, she did for Daniel.

It was all for Daniel.

Every minute. Every step.

And now Daniel’s safe and where’s Sean? Out in the middle of nowhere. Adrift. Alone. Aching to turn back.

But he can’t.

He can’t because he only feels safe when he’s moving. Because no matter where he goes, safe is somewhere else. Through a telescope. Out of reach.

“Sean… What’s wrong?”

Sean inhales through his nose. He’s not crying. He won’t cry. Not for her.

“I dunno,” he says. “I just… I can’t see the fucking point.”

Karen doesn’t understand. Sean can tell by the way she goes quiet.

“I was really fucking happy, you know? In Seattle. And California. Even fucking… Beaver Creek.”

Those places were safe, until they weren’t. Until the cops came, or a storm blew over, or Finn got a stupid idea. 

“I was happy here, too. Like… fairytale happy. _The end_ happy.”

Finn, easing him down on the mattress. Kissing his throat. Stroking his hair.

“But… I dunno. I realized how fucking fragile it was. And I couldn’t see the point in pretending it was gonna last.”

Daniel, laughing on the beach, playing fetch with dog who would die in the woods. There was a sandcastle at Sean’s feet, crumbling into dust.

“So I ran. Like _you_. Fuck… why did I do that? What the fuck is wrong with us?!”

“Oh, Sean. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Sean presses a hand over his face. Fuck, he’s crying. He’s crying, and he promised he wouldn’t.

“You’ve been through so much crap. Of course it’s gonna take you a while to… get your head above water.”

Is that why he can’t breathe? Because he’s still underwater, sinking into the dark?

“You’re gonna be okay, Sean. It might take a while, but one day you’ll… find somewhere you don’t wanna leave. A place you’re drawn back to, no matter how many times you drive away.”

“Is that what you have?” Sean says, hoping Karen can hear the sneer on his face. “Your own kids weren’t worth going back for, but your fucking vegetable garden—can’t leave that behind!”

Karen’s quiet. Sean’s free hand balls into a fist.

“When you look around your trailer…” he asks, thinking of his dusty house full of old furniture; that smelly mattress on the floor. “At your broken dishes, and busted toilet… Do you really think it was worth it? All the people you hurt? Everything you left behind?”

Daniel. Lyla. Cassidy and Hannah and Penny. Claire and Stephen and Chris.

Karen takes a deep breath. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Sean. Things I can’t take back.”

Dad, run through with a bullet. Daniel, carried away in Sean’s arms.

Glass flying into Sean’s eye.

Sean, speeding across the border with an empty passenger's seat.

“But you know… When you finally stop, and look around… You gotta tend the soil you have, Sean.”

Finn, running his hands across the walls, smiling at the possibility.

“It’s not easy. And… yeah, maybe it’ll all disappear one day, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t… beautiful, while it lasts.” 

Like a sandcastle.

Or the fireworks Dad loved so much.

Or the year Sean and Daniel spent together, exploring the woods, howling at the moon.

It was beautiful. And it ended far too quickly. But Sean’s glad that it happened, even if he’ll never see it again.

“Sean? Are you still there?”

He swallows thickly. “Yeah. I am.”

They linger in silence for a moment. Sean can hear Karen lighting a cigarette.

“Okay, well… I’m here, if you ever wanna talk”

“Or _you_ could try picking up the phone.”

“Fair point.” 

Karen exhales. Sean can almost smell the cigarette smoke swirling from her lips, and for a moment he’s a little kid again, laying on a pile of fresh, clean laundry, and loving the scent of Karen’s shirts; detergent mixed with smoke.

“I’m gonna go,” he says. “Thanks for… this.”

“No problem. And Sean? Good luck… finding your place. The one you don’t wanna leave.”

He already has.

  
  


*

  
  


Sean calls Finn to let him know he’s coming home. The phone rings for a while, and goes to voicemail. Heart hammering, Sean tries again.

Finn picks up this time. Sean waits for the _Hey sweetie_ , but it doesn’t come. There’s music on the other end, and laughter.

A… party?

“H-Hey!” Sean says, wishing Lyla the Love Witch was here to compose his words. “What’s going on?”

Finn giggles on the other end. The laughter bursts out of him, like he was holding it back. Like he just thought of a joke in his head, one that’ll take an hour to explain, ‘cause you’d have to _be there, man_ and _c’mon, Sean, just one more round!_

Shit. He’s _wasted_.

“You okay?” Sean asks. Finn makes a sound of disbelief.

“Fuckin’ A! You sound jus’ like Sean!” 

“I- yeah, it’s me!” Fuck, he’s really shitfaced. “Finn, listen-”

“Hey, guess what?!” Finn’s voice is distant, like he lowered the phone from his ear. “This guy sounds jus’ like Sean!” 

More laughter. Someone _boos_. There’s a shuffle, like… someone taking the phone out of Finn’s hand?

“Aww, c’mon!” Finn whines. “I wanna-”

The call ends. Sean doesn’t bother trying again. As the road disappears beneath his tires, he tries not to think about Finn, surrounded by new friends. New _family_. Strangers, living in Sean’s house. His father’s house. Finn, filling up those empty rooms and the hole Sean left in his heart.

He punches the steering wheel.

Sean’s home in less than six hours. The sky is dark by then, but all of the lights in Sean’s house are still on, filtering through the iron bars. He pulls up into the driveway and sits there with the engine idling, like the journey isn’t over, like he has miles left to travel.

He wants to go inside. He wants to go inside two months ago, with a case of coconut beers. He wants the beautiful life he left behind, the one he was too chickenshit to hold onto.

But he can’t.

Sean turns off the engine. He’s here. He’s _home_. 

He needs to tend the soil he has.

Coconut knocks Sean on his ass the moment he opens the front door. There’s laughter and a shout of surprise; someone’s talking but Sean can’t make out the words, can’t hear anything except Coconut, whimpering happily, licking his face and hair and ears.

“Coconut! _Hey_! C’mere.”

Coconut pulls back. Sean sits up, and blinks at the three strangers sitting in his living room.

Except, they’re not strangers.

Hannah pats her knee, and Coconut jumps into her lap. She raises a beer towards Sean in greeting, just as Cassidy fills his entire vision.

“Diaz!” she cries, helping him to his feet. “We was wonderin’ when you were gonna show up!”

They’re here. Finn’s old crew. Hannah, Cass and Penny, all draped across the living room, surrounded by empty beer cans and cigarette smoke, like this is any other campsite, just another place to crash.

No Finn, though.

Cassidy punches his arm. “Well? Say somethin’!”

“I…” Sean shakes his head. He feels dizzy. Finn didn’t replace him after all. “I can’t believe you’re here! Holy _shit_ , it’s good to see you!”

He wraps Cassidy in a hug. She squeezes him tight, and it feels like no time has passed at all. Like they just saw each other yesterday.

“The fuck are you guys doing here?”

“Oh, yuh’know, just passin’ through. Seein’ new things! Learnin’ Spanish! I’m gettin’ real good!”

“ _¿Ah, sí? Cuéntame más_.”

“Uhh… Lemme help you with your bag!”

Cassidy pulls him into the living room. Penny’s on the floor, high as fuck. He rubs his eyes and says, “Girl, that ain’t Sean!”

“Dude, calm down, it’s just an eyepatch.”

Oh, that’s right. The last time they saw him, he had a clean-shaven face and two eyes. A mohawk, too. Cassidy hasn’t changed at all, though. None of them have. They look exactly the same, right down to Hannah’s favorite jacket and Cassidy’s purple hair.

Penny waves his hands. “Nah, I’m tellin’ you… All that shit that went down? At Merrill’s? Pigs got ‘im. Pumped ‘im full’a pills.” 

Penny squints at Sean like he can see through him. Sean smiles back.

“It’s good to see you too, Penny,” Sean says. “So, uh… Where’s Finn?”

“Upstairs,” Hannah says. She sounds completely sober, despite the drink in her hand. “I told him to sleep it off.”

Sean glances down the hall. Finn’s upstairs right now… 

“So?!” Cassidy says, tugging on Sean’s arm. “Tell us everythin’! Bet you got a million stories—”

“Um… Tomorrow, okay? I’d love to catch up, but I’m… super tired from the drive…”

Cassidy whines, but she doesn’t argue. It’s actually Hannah who follows Sean down the hall, and stops him at the foot of the stairs.

“Hey. Can we talk for a sec?”

Sean doesn’t think he can refuse.

“Finn called us down here. He’s… pretty messed up.”

Yeah. No fun to play Minecraft with anymore.

“His birthday was two days ago.”

What?

Shit. Did Sean call two days ago? Does he even _know_ Finn’s birthday? All this time they’ve been together, and he never considered… Never bothered to ask...

“Listen—” Hannah uncrosses her arms. “I’m not trying to call you out, or… tell you what to do. I just want you to know… how things are.”

Sean nods. He gets it. 

“I know. Thanks for… being here for him. That’s really cool of you. Especially after all the shit we did in Humboldt…”

“Yeah, we were pretty pissed at you guys,” Hannah says. “But… He needed us. So we came.”

Sean rubs his neck. “Do you guys still think of him as… family?”

“Of course we do,” Hannah says. She sounds offended.

“Sorry… I just thought… Since you haven’t seen him in a while…”

“Being apart doesn’t mean we’re not family.”

Those words slip right into Sean’s heart, stabbing the place he keeps all of Daniel’s letters and phone calls.

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Hannah’s quiet. Then she places a hand on Sean’s shoulder.

“Hey. I mean it. We’re family.”

Sean meets her eye. Wonders if he looks at Daniel the same way Hannah’s looking at him now.

“Okay.” Hannah pats his arm. “Get some rest.”

Finally— _Finally_ — Sean climbs the stairs.

He knocks on the bedroom door, because it seems weird to just walk in. No one answers, though.

He pushes on the door. It swings open gently, and there’s Finn, sprawled out on the mattress, tangled in blankets. He left the window open again; the room is a little too cold. Sean wants to crawl into bed beside him, but Finn’s only wearing a pair of boxers. He looks vulnerable in a way that makes Sean feel like a predator; an intruder in his own home.

Sean lies down on the floor instead, using a pile of laundry for his pillow. His nostrils fill with the scent of weed and rust and Coconut. His ears fill the steady sound of Finn’s breath.

And sleep comes.

  
  


*

  
  


Coconut is whining downstairs, pawing at the back door.

It doesn’t last very long. Someone lets him out; Sean can hear the door open, then Coconut, yapping at the ocean.

Sean smiles into his pillow of dirty clothes. Damn, he missed that crazy little dog.

He sits up, and regrets it immediately. A blanket that Sean didn’t go to sleep with slides off his shoulders and pools at his waist, and all the heat trapped beneath it leaches into the morning air.

“Mornin’, sweetie.”

Sean turns towards sound of Finn’s voice. He’s by the window, smoking a joint, staring through the iron bars. He hasn’t dressed. The sunlight plays off his skin and washes out his tattoos, leaving him ghostly pale. Almost transparent. Like he isn't really here.

Sean draws up beside him. The ocean breeze nips at Sean’s face and he wishes he could wrap himself in Finn’s arms.

Finn doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move. His dreads are pulled back in a way Sean’s never seen before, tied into a short ponytail. It kind of reminds Sean of the mohawk he used to have; just a strip of hair down the center of Finn’s head, leaving the sides exposed.

Wait. Was Finn always… shorter than him?

Sean looks Finn up and down. He’s not slouching. Well—no more than usual. But there’s a noticeable difference in their heights that wasn’t there before. Sean’s gotten taller, by at least an inch.

He hates it. For some reason, it makes him feel like Finn is even further away.

“H-Hey,” Sean says, stuttering for an excuse, anything to bridge the distance between them. “Can I have a hit?”

Finn’s expression flickers. A spark of life.

“Yeah. Sure.”

But instead of passing the joint, Finn brings it to his own lips. He takes a long drag, then draws close to Sean and breathes the smoke into his open mouth.

Warmth floods through Sean’s body. He can feel it spreading through every inch of him, vibrating in his palms and fingertips and neck and toes. Finn is _so close_ —their lips are nearly touching. Finn’s nose brushes his cheek.

Sean fights the urge to sink into Finn. It’s an urge he’s been fighting for months, every day, every minute since he left. With a single breath, Finn wears away the last of Sean’s defenses; he whines, not caring how pathetic it sounds, and drops his forehead to Finn’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” he says. Finn nuzzles the side of his head.

“Missed you too, baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

Strong arms encircle Sean’s waist. Soft lips press kisses to his shoulder. Sean’s blind spot is pressed into Finn’s neck, but his open eye can see through the bars. Puerto Lobos is waking up. Finn’s joint smolders in an ashtray, perched on the windowsill.

“D’ju find what ‘chu were looking’ for out there?”

“No,” Sean says, burrowing closer, filling his senses with everything that is Finn. “It’s here. It’s _you_.”

Finn makes a strange sound. “Shit… Don’t say that.”

He pushes Sean back. Sean feels like a plant torn from the earth, his roots still clinging to Finn.

“You don’t need me. I ain’t the one who gotchu this far. Or carried Daniel ‘cross the fuckin’ country.” Finn smiles, faintly. Almost reverently. “You’re so strong, sweetie.”

“No, I’m not.”

If Finn hadn’t come, Sean would still be on the floor. He’d still be living in this house like a coffin; no heat, or light, or letters from Daniel. Without Finn, he never would have called Claire. Or bathed in the ocean. Or held hands at the market, where everyone can see.

“You make me brave,” Sean says.

Finn lets out a soft laugh. It’s not a cruel sound, nor a mocking one. He just sounds sad. 

“Fine line ‘tween the brave and the _stupid_ ,” he says. “An’ neither one'a 'em live very long.”

Gentle fingers brush the bangs away from Sean's missing eye.

“I’m a fuckup, Sean. One day, I’m gonna let’chu down… or get’chu hurt.”

Yeah.

He will.

That’s what Sean was afraid of. That’s why he ran.

His heart was growing back. Little by little, day by day, love was sprouting in Sean’s life. He had letters and kisses and lazy afternoons, carefully tended like vegetables in desert soil, barren land turned to a bounty.

But then the storm came. And Sean could see it—the inevitable loss. The garden, uprooted. All the love and light torn out of him, leaving holes and empty rooms.

He couldn’t stand it. So he left.

“I know,” Sean says. His throat is so tight, he can barely form the words. “But I don’t care. Not anymore.”

He wants it. He wants the sandcastle, the fireworks bursting across the sky before it all turns to darkness. He wants to tend his heart like a garden, and give away the fruit. He wants to love, and lose, and hurt, and grow, over and over, for as long as he can draw breath.

“I wanna see it,” Sean says. “I wanna see all our fuckups.”

All their mistakes. Their beautiful, terrible mistakes. 

“I wanna run into the storm with you.”

Finn laughs with tears in his eyes. He cups Sean’s face and stares at him like he’s everything in the world. Like he’s sun and sand and coconuts.

“You dumbass,” Finn says, grinning wide enough to show off his missing tooth. It's the cutest thing on the fucking planet, and Sean finally understands why.

It's because he can only see it when Finn’s smiling.

“Listen—I get it, if you gotta pull my ass back sometimes. I get these…” Finn shakes his head, like he’s writing a letter, crossing things out. “When I was growin’ up, no one gave a _shit_ ‘bout what I wanted. Ev’ryone just… wanted’a use me, or whatever. So I started listenin’ to myself.”

He places a flat palm against Sean’s chest, the way Sean placed his hand against that hospital window, saying everything except _goodbye_.

“But I trust you,” Finn says. “So I should listen to you. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Sean echoes.

Finn’s expression goes soft and Sean knows he’s about to be kissed. He lets Finn close the space between their mouths, because it feels good to be wanted. To be the magnet, pulling someone in.

They kiss each other joyfully, playfully. They kiss each other with roaming hands and thrusting hips, like they’re starving for it.

“ _Fuck_ , I missed you,” Finn says, his breath hot against Sean’s lips. “You gettin’ taller, baby?”

“Think so.”

“Fuckin’ A, that’s hot…” 

More kisses. They stumble in the vague direction of the mattress, letting their clothes trail after them, just like the first time. Their first time.

Sean’s feet bump against the mattress. He sinks into it, pulling Finn down on top of him, and bones sing with relief. Finn straddles his waist and kisses his neck and once again Sean thinks about their first time. How Finn pressed him into the mattress. How comfortable he always feels, under Finn’s weight.

All this time—it wasn’t a liferaft that he needed.

It was anchor.

Sean trembles against Finn, arching into every touch, whining at the smallest loss of contact. 

“Need you in me,” Sean says. “Please…”

As Finn reaches for lube, Sean pulls his legs open, holding on behind the knees. Finn nearly drops the bottle.

“Holy _shit_ , sweetie. You need me that bad?”

Sean nods wordlessly, and keeps nodding until Finn slips a finger inside of him. His hole stretches around the intrusion, burning in the sweetest way. Finn twists his hand, pushing in and out, then adds a second finger.

“That’s enough—” Sean says, breathless. “Want it rough. Wanna feel it later—”

He wants to sit around the living room with Hannah and Penny and Cassidy, feeling that sweet pain between his legs, his own dirty little secret.

Sean hears but doesn’t see Finn spreading lube on his dick. His eye is shut, quietly savoring every sound, every small sensation. The stretch in his legs, knees pulled to his chest. The cool air on his slicked, desperate hole.

Sean cries out when Finn pushes into him, and Finn swallows his shout with a searing kiss. Their mouths move together, hot and heavy.

“Could you cum like this?” Finn whispers against his lips. “Just layin’ here, with me inside you?”

Sean whines again. His ass clenches around Finn’s dick, trying to draw him in deeper.

Finn doesn’t make him answer, though. With his face pressed into Sean’s neck, he starts thrusting, good and slow and hard. With each snap of his hips, he hits the spot inside of Sean that makes him see stars; the darkness behind his eyelid explodes with spots of color.

His thighs are shaking. His fingers feel weak. Sean isn’t sure how long he can hold himself open, but he doesn’t dare let go. Finn’s so deep inside of him, filling him up, dragging his cock against every possible inch of Sean’s inner walls.

He can’t take it. It’s been too long since he’s had anything but his own hand. Sean wails when he cums—and then he goes loose, his dick throbbing and thighs shaking. Finn _grunts_ above him, suddenly grabbing Sean’s hips and thrusting with abandon, as if seeing Sean all fucked out and flushed and splattered with cum _does_ things to him.

He cums deep inside of Sean. Sean moans with satisfaction, loving how it fills him with warmth. Finn collapses, but doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, he wraps Sean’s arm around him, and nuzzles the side of his neck, burying himself in Sean’s everything.

And Sean smiles, because Finn needs an anchor, too. Someone to hold him in the storm.

  
  


*

  
  


They take the bars off the windows.

It’s crazy how much bigger the house feels without them. Like they added three more rooms, just waiting to be filled with old friends and stray dogs. 

They celebrate Finn’s birthday, too. Sean gets him a Power Bear piñata and stuffs it full of mini Chock-O-Crisps. Finn breaks it open with a wooden stick, and everyone cheers as the chocolate rains down. Suddenly, they’re all six years old again, scrambling on the ground, scooping up as much candy as they can hold—even Hannah.

That night, they get drunk on the beach. Penny tosses the empty beer cans like baseballs and Finn bats them into the ocean. They wash up on shore like glass bottles, messages from far away.

Sean sits around the firepit with Cass and Hannah and an open sketchbook. Coconut lays his head in Sean’s lap and exhales heavily; Cassidy strums her guitar and it feels like all of them are taking one long breath, finally getting their heads above water.

Sean turns to fresh page in his journal. He’s starting to run out. Soon, the sketchbook will be all filled up. He’ll have to find another. 

That hurts a little.

Okay, that hurts a _lot_. 

His father gave him this sketchbook. It was the last thing Dad _ever_ gave him—besides his old house. Sean wonders if there will ever be a day when he uses up the latter; if he’ll pack up his memories like all of those photos in a cardboard box, and go off in search of something new.

Maybe.

And that’s okay.

His father didn’t give him this notebook so it could sit on a shelf, its pages forever left blank. He gave it Sean to be used, and torn, and scribbled on, and scratched out. He wanted Sean to make it his own.

“Sean? You okay?” Hannah asks.

“Uh… yeah,” Sean says, blinking rapidly. He’s been staring at the house for a long time. All those white walls turned orange by the firelight.

“C’mon, you were thinkin’ somethin’!” Cassidy prompts. Sean only smiles in reply.

The mural takes a long time. Weeks, actually. A lot of hours stolen here and there, after helping Finn in the garage or his usual odd jobs around town. Mostly, he works on it in the evening, while the sun slips into the ocean. He’ll have a beer, and turn on the radio, and sometimes Finn will come outside to watch, or help, or hold his ladder. Sean will paint until the light fades, and then he’ll sit back in the sand with Finn’s arms wrapped around him and just take in what he’s done. 

The mural is only half finished when Lyla comes to visit. She and Sean crash into each other, screaming and laughing and crying.

“Damn, Diaz! You got so fucking tall! How dare you do that to me?!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t drink your milk!”

“Fuck you!” Lyla says, smiling through her tears. Her eyes flick to Finn, standing just behind Sean. “Holy shit—is that your boyfriend?!”

She pushes Sean out of the way. Finn and Lyla embrace like they’ve known each other for years.

They get along really well. All of them. Lyla’s one of the few people who can make Hannah laugh, and she can actually understand Penny when he gets high. And when Cassidy sings around the firepit, Sean isn’t who she stares at anymore.

“I love your voice,” Lyla says, while everyone else applauds. 

“ _Meow_ ,” Cassidy grins.

It’s an amazing summer. The best of Sean’s life. He paints while Lyla chatters away at the foot of his ladder, and he plays video games with Penny, who can’t figure out how the buttons work, but that’s kind of half the fun. He strings a hammock across the porch and takes long naps with Finn, only to get woken up at sunset, because Hannah’s cooking dinner and she needs someone to peel potatoes.

The house is noisy, and crowded, and _filthy_. Sean can’t take a single step without knocking over a pile of laundry, or a stack of pizza boxes. His bathroom is always occupied; his toothbrush is never where he left it. Someone is always eating his cereal, or calling his name.

And he’ll hate it when they leave.

But as summer draws to an end and the tourists move on, so does the crew. Lyla’s starting college soon, and Hannah wants to head north for their usual gig in Humboldt. 

One last night. One last party. Beers on the beach and a roaring fire. Sean’s got a pleasant buzz tingling between his eyes.

“Hey, where’s Cass?” he asks.

“Skinny dippin’,” Finn replies, jabbing a thumb towards the ocean. Heat rises into Sean’s face when he realizes that Lyla’s gone, too.

“Shit,” he mutters. Finn squeezes his arm.

“Aww! You don’t like sharin’ your best friend?”

“What? No, it’s not like that!” Sean says, his face burning even more. “It’s just… I wanted my tattoo.”

The one he talked about months ago. The one about… being honest. And brave.

“Well, shit!” Finn says, tugging Sean inside the house. “We can help with that!”

He gets a heart—but not one with Finn’s name on it. No, Sean wants a _real_ heart; anatomical, like one beating inside his chest. Hannah pokes the ink into his skin with a needle while Finn holds his hand, and no one laughs at him when he complains about how much it fucking hurts.

His arm is still stinging when the sun comes up, and everyone says goodbye. He squeezes Lyla extra tight, and she’s already promising to come back for Spring Break, or next summer, and Sean tells her it’s okay, it’s okay, distance can’t tear us apart.

“Best Freaking Fighters, forever.”

There’s more hugs. More tears. And then that’s it. They’re gone. And there’s nothing left in the house but Sean and Finn and Coconut, and a lot of quiet, empty rooms.

“You okay?” Finn asks.

“Yeah,” Sean sighs, remembering his new tattoo. Empty things don’t stay empty. Hearts always grow back. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He means it this time. He really, truly does. 

Sean places a kiss on Finn’s cheek. “I’m gonna go work on my mural.”

It’s almost done. It wraps the entire house, starting at the front door and winding all the way back around, across the walls, around the windows, over the back porch and balcony. Sean likes that no one can see the whole thing from just one side; you have to walk from one end to the other, discover it step by step, the same way he did.

Sean climbs down his ladder for the final time. Finn slips up from behind him and wraps both arms around Sean’s waist. 

“Am I up there?” he whispers. His hands slide under Sean’s shirt just to card through his chest hair. Sean hums with appreciation. 

“You all are.”

Everyone. All of them, painted up on the wall as bears and wolves and coyotes, full moons and broken chains and desert dunes. Winding roads. Towering trees. Stars, scattered throughout.

“It’s beautiful, sweetie.”

Yeah.

It really was.

**Author's Note:**

> The end of Life Is Strange 2 hit me really hard.
> 
> Like, "I can't get out of bed" hard. "What's the point of anything" hard. "I feel empty inside" hard. It was rough. Really, really rough. And I wouldn't have gotten through it without of all my wonderful friends on the Sean/Finn Discord server, to whom this fic is dedicated, and to whom I will always be immensely, profoundly grateful. You give me strength, laddies. You make me brave.
> 
> It's hard when things end. It's hard when we... give ourselves to something (a book; a friend; a video game series) and let it live inside our hearts for a while. It can leave us feeling empty after, and we look around at where it left us, and we wonder if it was really worth it. Maybe we should've just stayed home. Never gotten out of bed.
> 
> But the emptiness doesn't last forever. It grows back; the old things we loved, and the new things we let into our lives. Our hearts grow back no matter how many times we give it away, over and over, again and again. Infinity exists inside of us. It goes on forever. It grows and it grows and it grows.
> 
> I love you all. I love the friends I've made playing Life Is Strange, and the art and stories and dumb memes we've inspired in each other. Thank you for being part of this journey with me. Thank you for encouraging me, and uplifting me. I'm so grateful for every moment, every second, every word we've shared. You are infinite. You are a garden of love.


End file.
